


Always Solo

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured, Napoleon waits for a lonely death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Solo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lgvu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lgvu).



The first thing he heard upon waking was the steady _drip, drip_ of water.  Napoleon shivered and tried to pull himself into a tighter ball.  His cell was cold and damp and he was without much in the way of clothes.  His pants and shirt were nothing more than tattered rags now. 

He moved slightly and his joints screamed in agony, but he barely noticed it over the burn in his stomach.  His rations were next to nothing to begin with, mostly moldy bread and some tasteless gruel.  However, after weeks of deprivation and abuse, he lacked the strength and energy to eat when the food was offered now.  It sat untouched, inedible even for the rats to bother with.

In short, Napoleon Solo was ready to die.  He longed to die, but his will to live were too strong.  His heart kept pumping, his lungs kept breathing and his brain kept working, even though the man was ready for the end.  It wasn’t supposed to end this way.  He was supposed to go out with a blaze of glory, guns blasting with Illya at his side… except, no Illya.

Napoleon thought back upon an ordinary afternoon so very long ago --                                                                

                                                                                ****

“Where are you going?”  Illya caught up with him in Reception.  Napoleon had already unclipped his badge and returned it to the rack.  They’d been staying out of each other’s way, although Napoleon could no longer remember why.

“Well, I happen to have a hot little date tonight, but I thought I’d drop this package off at the Soviet Embassy on my way.”  He saw a sharp look in Illya’s eyes.  Illya had been slated for that run.  In fact, he’d petitioned Waverly for it.  There was no reason why Napoleon decided at the last minute to claim it for himself.

“I thought that was my assignment.”  Only Napoleon could detect the small bit of hurt in Illya’s voice.  “Since when do you do courier work?”

Napoleon pulled himself up to his full height, which while not great still made him taller than Illya.  “What’s wrong with that?  I’m not so hotshot an agent that I can’t handle a simple courier job.  Besides, it’s on my way to my date with Clarisse.” 

“You can’t,” Illya blurted out, then looked over at the receptionist.

“Can’t?  Last time I checked, I was in charge of Section Two.  I can do as I please.”  That wasn’t entirely true and both of them knew it.  Waverly could pull Napoleon’s plug in a minute. 

“What I mean is that we’ve had Intel that tells us there might be something else coming down tonight.  .”

“All the better, since I can handle anything.” 

“At least let me go with you as back up.”

“It’s okay, Illya.”  Napoleon punched him lightly in the shoulder.  “I will be in and out before THRUSH even knows I’m there and will be dancing with the charming Clarisse before they have a chance to figure out what happened.”

 

                                                                                *****

If he had the energy, Napoleon would laugh.  He didn’t.  He had gone, half-cocked, right into a THRUSH setup.  Illya had warned him and Napoleon should have seen it, would have seen it if he hadn’t been so busy showing off.  There was a competitive edge to his side that got the better of him at times.  He should have known Illya wasn’t joking.  Too late for that, though.  Now Napoleon was here, alone, isolated, solo.  Just like his name.  Always like his name.

In school, he always seemed to be odd man out, too brainy for jocks, too athletic for the Einsteins. Girls avoided him until he hit about fifteen and came into his own.  Then he had no trouble with dates, but often ran afoul of their sweethearts or brothers.  That all ended when he met the woman he married… the woman who died.  And he was solo again.

In the military, he was serious and committed. It took a while for his platoon to really figure him out, but once they did, it was as if they were one.  Until the one day that he went left and everyone else went right and died for their efforts.   Napoleon had been sent on a recon, but his platoon leader decided to move before Napoleon returned.  It saved his life, but cost him everyone he held dear.

He got the reputation in UNCLE of being tougher than nails, meaner than a cornered dog, and more cunning than the man he was named for.  Napoleon chewed through partner after partner, until one day, a quiet blond Soviet was introduced to him. 

From the first, he and Illya fit together like peas and carrots, bacon and eggs, salt and pepper.   Then one day, he heard someone comment that he was getting soft and that Illya was pulling the load.  Napoleon decided to prove them wrong, once and for all.  And got captured for his efforts

Napoleon wondered how long Illya had looked for him or if even he’d finally given up.  Napoleon couldn’t blame him if he had.  He’d been missing for weeks now, possible months.  He’d long since lost track of time.  He’d tried making the days, but it was hard to tell with no way to see the sun.  Everything was cold and wet and pain now.  He marked the days the best he could.

Napoleon was left to rot, fittingly alone.  He wondered how many women would come to his funeral, if UNCLE even permitted one.  Waverly was funny about such things.  Napoleon would be honored, but privately and quietly among his fellow agents.  Napoleon wondered if they even had noticed he was gone.  Yes, he was wallowing in a well of self-pity, but honestly it was all that he had left.

There was a noise of approaching feet and Napoleon groaned.  _No,_ he decided _, if they wanted to beat him, they could just carry him._   He’d be hanged if he’d help them.

The door opened and Napoleon squinted his eyes shut.  The light wasn’t bright, but even the smallest amount burned these days.

He drew himself further into a ball, groaning from the effort.  He tried to will himself invisible, or to sleep, or to death.  He’d do anything to avoid what was coming.  His heart was slowing, his breathing labored.  It wouldn’t be long now.  Soon he’d be beyond this pain and humiliation.

 “Napoleon?”

One solo word, spoken by the one person Napoleon should never have doubted and would never doubt again, and Napoleon Solo decided, in that moment, instead to live.


End file.
